


Not all who wander are lost - The Mirrim Tabris Story

by Anasilan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age 100 Challenge, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grey Wardens, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Mabari, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Running Away, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Travel, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 12,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anasilan/pseuds/Anasilan
Summary: Fresh from defeating the Archdemon, Mirrim feels like the world is finally set to rights until Alistair breaks her heart. Running away from the pain, Mirrim tries to find herself only to discover the one person she misses, is the one person she never felt truly wanted her. Little did she know... she was being followed.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Male Hawke/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	1. Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> All characters/places etc are owned by Bioware. I'm just borrowing them a bit. This story is set between Dragon Age Origins and Dragon Age 2. I'm skipping Awakening because I didn't like the lack of Zevran.
> 
> This story is an alternate universe and mostly headcanon. I will make reference to things that happened in the game. There will eventually be smut - but I'll put up warnings!
> 
> Starts off angsty... but it'll get better sooner or later. I promise! Story to be updated as I complete each prompt.
> 
> Kudos and comments welcome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varying POVs.. however, unless noted, it is mostly Mirrim's.

“But, being king, raises some questions about us. About you and me….” The words ran around Mirrim’s head, echoing and causing small jabs of intense pain. Her thoughts racing, though her face remained a stoic mask, she stood silently as Alistair called her his best friend and announced that she was the Hero of Fereldan. Around her, the Landsmeet, various other nobles and her companions shouted her name to the rafters, faces smiling, and proud.

“I will need to find a wife… one who can bear a child…” and then the words “You could stay with me as my Mistress, Love….” She blinked her eyes against the moisture that built up again. He meant he’d have to find a shem wife, to have a shem child. Because marrying an elf, and an alienage elf at that, would not be appropriate, no matter what they had done for their country. But it was okay for her to be his whore on the side. After everything they had been to each other, after all his promises to her, it had just been more shem lies.

She raised her eyes to the rafters, hoping the action would stave off the tears that were now threatening to spill down her cheeks. Holding her breath, and only half-listening she raised her arm over her head in answer to the crowd's calls, then lowered her face to smile blindly at them, valiantly hoping that her natural elven stoicism would cover the pain that was threatening to break through her emotional barriers. Lowering her arm, she turned to face Alistair, no_ King_ Alistair, noticing his eyes widen as he looked at her. Keeping the stark smile plastered to her face, she bowed to him, as was his due being the King of Fereldan, then turned her back on him to leave the Landsmeet hall. She couldn’t let these shem’s see her break, and certainly not on such an auspicious day.

“Mirrim?” She heard his steps behind her, and it made her stand rigidly as she turned to face him. After all, she had defeated the Archdemon, she had helped save Fereldan, she could do this, she could face this _shemlen _with her pride intact_._ She gave an internal laugh of derision as she looked at the man in front of her, a man who just that morning had told her how much he loved and needed her. She looked him in the eye, her chin raising stubbornly, noticing her friends standing behind the King, looking confused and a little worried. None of them knew what had happened, so her leaving so quietly was against everything they knew about her, and against her usual nature.

Zevran’s forehead was wrinkled in consternation as he looked between the couple trying to understand what was going on. To Mirrim, that just made Alistair’s betrayal worse. Praying her face remained expressionless, she bowed again, looking into Alistair’s slightly bewildered eyes. Voice cracking despite her best efforts to control it, she spoke. “By your leave, your majesty”. That done, she turned on her booted heel and strode out to the balcony to face the cheering Denerim crowds.

Behind her, faintly, she thought she heard Zevran hiss angrily at Alistair. “What did you do?!”


	2. Hate

Mirrim slammed the heavy wooden door to the guest room she had been assigned at the palace, grunting in satisfaction when a piece of plaster came loose above it and smashed into the floor. Locking it against the sound of the party revellers in the hall, she also added a few pieces of twisted metal that would guarantee that neither Leliana nor Zevran would be able to pick it any time soon. Knowing that she would be alone for at least a candle length, Alistair was preoccupied with being king, and her companions were busy celebrating with a few games of Wicked Grace, she began to pull off the Royal Armour Alistair had gifted her with shortly before his announcement of her hero status in the Landsmeet. She no longer wanted to have any reminder of the Shem king on her, not his armour, not his weaponry and definitely not his scent. Stepping into the adjoining bathroom, she stepped into the tepid bathwater, rapidly scrubbing herself with rough, strong swipes. Dunking her head under the water, she heard the watch bells strike midnight and knew that her time was running out. Muttering an oath under her breath, she stepped from the stone tub, uncaring about the water running over the cold stone floors and headed back into the bedroom, yanking the wardrobe open and pulling out her packs. Idly she saw that Alistair’s beat-up pack was still leaning untidily against the wardrobe’s ornate leg, and in a fit of pique, she kicked it hard across the room, taking small delight in the sound of something breaking as it landed upside down on the floor.  
  
Pulling her old, elven made clothes from the bag, she slid them on, the leather moulding to her legs and chest, leaving her free to move and blend with the shadows as necessary. Looking down at her bare feet, she decided that taking the boots was better than going barefoot. It was a habit she had broken in the year since Duncan had taken her from her family in the alienage. Swiftly lacing them up, she looked around the room quickly grabbing a few trinkets that she couldn’t bear to part with: a sketch of her and her mabari from Zevran, a tiny nug carving from Leliana, a small jar from Wynne that sparkled with rainbows when you shook it, a black leather journal from Morrigan and Duncan's Silverite warden dagger. Stopping for a moment, she let Alistair's rose, which had dried between the folds of Morrigan's journal, fall the floor, the petals and leaves shattering as they landed against the cold unforgiving stone. Stuffing the rest of the items back into her pack and her coin purse inside her shirt, before sliding her blades into their holsters, she stepped towards the door, quietly pulling the extra lock from the keyhole, and silently opened the door, stepping through into the dim corridor.

Keeping to the shadows, she moved quickly through Denerim Castle, avoiding the slow-moving servants and drowsy guards, taking the back passages where possible. After sliding a letter under Zevran’s door she decided that it would be better to leave through the kitchens, so she bypassed the main entrance and halls, cloaking herself like a shadow wraith as she raced downs the halls and corridors. Her heart beat faster as she neared her goal, concentrating so hard on getting there unnoticed that she failed to pay attention to the warden warning that started echoing through her skull. As she stepped from the kitchen out into the garden, a large, sword calloused hand gripped her upper arm, turning her abruptly around to face them.  
  
Looking up, Mirrim didn’t bother hiding the hateful sneer that broken over her face, her heart hardening against the look of intense shock that broke over Alistair’s face.  
  
“Miri?” His voice broke, bewildered that such a look would be aimed at him, from the woman he loved.  
  
Her large, green elven eyes narrowed, and she snarled, bearing her teeth at him.  
  
“Get your hands off me, Shemlen, I am no longer your whore.” She hissed, shoving his hand from her with unexpected strength. “Go find a shem whore to bed, I am done here.” Stepping back slightly, she spat at his feet.  


“Goodbye, Shemlen King.” Pulling her cloak tightly around herself, she disappeared soundlessly into the night, leaving Alistair staring in open-mouthed shock at where she had just been standing.


	3. Sympathy

Her heart was still pounding loudly in her chest as she landed at the bottom of the garden wall. For a moment, she turned and placed her hand on the wall, regretting the words she had hatefully spat at Alister… no, she couldn’t think of him like that anymore… she regretted the hateful words she had spat at _the king_ before running from him. She killed an archdemon for creator’s sake, and now, after everything, she was running from the only other warden left in all of Ferelden. A sob tore at her throat, but she knew she couldn’t stop. If she stayed, she’d have to pretend to be happy for him, she’d have to help him fix Fereldan, watch him get married, all whilst being watched by Eamon and Teagan Guerrin, who’s family SHE had saved but were against her being with Ali… the king because she was a “knife ear”. Must be embarrassing to have a “knife ear” save you and your country. She should have listened to Shianni when she told her that she trusted people too easily and that she’d regret falling for shem lies.  
  
Sighing, she pushed away from the wall and moved towards the servants' exit. Though this escape wasn’t planned, she just knew she had to get away, far away to deal with all of this, she had one more thing to pick up and then she was heading to The Pearl. If luck was with her, and the offer was still open, Miri hoped that she could slip away into the night aboard Isabela’s ship, leaving all the pain behind her. The night was dark and cloaked in clouds, lending itself to silence and helping her flit between shadows. When she entered the Market Place, she noticed that the guards around the alienage’s entrance were sleeping, leaning against their pikes. Usually that irritated her, but tonight she welcomed their dereliction of their duty. Not that the shem guards really cared about keeping anyone out of the area, they were more concerned with keeping the filthy elves inside it. Even though it was an elf that had saved them not three days ago. Not giving them a second look, she snuck passed and across the bridge, the fetid smell of Denerim’s wastewater filling her nose as she trod soundlessly towards the tiny houses. The alienage was silent as she entered. There were no public houses full of crowds of drunken revellers, no brightly lit streets or whores plying their trade in the back streets. Unlike the rest of Denerim that was loud and brightly celebrating the end of the blight and “their homegrown” heroine, the alienage seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the next disaster to begin.

As she turned the last corner, she heard a quiet, questioning ruff from the shadows by the front door of her father’s house, before moments later she was bowled off her feet by her huge and very slobbery mabari. Winston, or Tonne as he was more commonly known, had been staying with her father and cousin during the battle of Denerim. She had hidden the three of them in a small house near the border with Amaranthine when they discovered the direction the horde army was coming from, hoping against hope it would keep them safe.

The gambit had worked, and she’d received a message just that morning that the three had returned to the city and were looking forward to seeing her. Smiling, she looked up at the drool covered animal as he grinned down at her before he let her sit up and put her arms around his massive neck. Soon her smiles turned to tears, and she pushed her face against his fur, her slight body shuddering as she gave in to the pain held deep within. Tonne, leaned against her comfortingly, making soft growly noises that she assumed were his attempts to show he cared. Eventually, he lay his head on her thighs and looked up at her with adoring eyes as she told him what had happened, growling when she told him about what Alister had said and looking pleased when she told him that she was done with all male shems, forever. As the watch bell struck the second hour past midnight, Miri and Tonne snuck back out of the alienage towards the docks, tears filling her eyes as she scurried away, thinking of the letters she had pushed under darkened doors and about those she was going to miss.


	4. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Alistair's POV
> 
> According to Google Translate: novia means Sweetheart - so I am taking it as it's word.... we all know the internet would never lie to us!
> 
> Oh... if you are a hard Alistair romancer (because he is lovely), then you probably won't like how I am treating him right now. So here's a warning for that. I'll make it up to you later. I promise.

Zevran

Zev,

By the time you will read this, I hope, I will be gone. I can’t stay and be a shem’s whore or token court elf. Certainly not to someone who can so quickly toss aside love because it comes with knife ears and an apparent lack of breeding capability.

I’d tell you not to look for me, but I won’t waste my time. I am heading to the Free Marches, and then to Weisshaupt – then after that. Who knows? I have the dagger you gave me, Duncan's blade and Winston. Just don’t tell the Shemlen King where I have gone.  
  
May we see each other again someday,

_Ir abelas, Lethallin_

Miri

Zevran stared down at the letter and read it again, red hot rage rising in his throat. Gone. She was gone. For the last 8 months, he had watched her, protected her, not that she needed much of that, and cared for her. Sure, he’d made lewd and suggestive comments, poked fun at her for falling for the Theirin heir, poked fun at him for falling for her, but he’d found a home with her. Even if he couldn’t have her. Rage had him crumpling the edges of the parchment, staring down at the words even as his fingers accidentally ripped through a corner. He’d never heard her use such words before.

Wynne had said that when she’d first met Miri, she had been extremely distrustful of her, Morrigan, Leliana and Alistair. Going so far as to sit and sleep near Sten, who had decided to protect her for reasons discernible only to himself. It was only after the attack on Redcliffe that she relaxed and seem to grow easier in their company. By the time, he had come along, she had been an important cog in the wheel, laughing, smiling and playing tricks on everyone, flirting with Alistair and training her lockpicking and knife skills with Leliana.  
  
Smoothing out the letter, he folded it carefully and tucked it into his pack, and turned to the door. He’d seen how upset she’d been the previous evening, he’d even asked Alistair what he had done, but the young man had just shamefacedly denied any involvement and went to talk with the Guerrin brothers. Now… now he knew the truth, and Alistair was going to regret lying to him and for hurting his _novia._

* * * * * * * *

Alistair

The room was cloaked in shadows. Looking around he saw this pack upside down on the floor, there were drying puddles of water trailing out of the bathroom. Carelessly dropped on the floor was the brand-new armour he had gifted to Miri just the previous morning. The chest emblazoned with the symbol of the Theirin House, a lion… it had meant that she belonged with him, in his house. His best friend, his love, a hero. Someone he was proud of even if he couldn’t be with her. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, heart racing. Then his heart stopped when he saw it. The Lothering rose he’d given her was lying, broken on the floor beside the bed. Discarded. Like Miri felt. She’d called him a Shem and herself a whore. His heart broke into smaller pieces. She’d gone, and it was his own fault.

Standing in the room, lost in miserable thought, he didn’t notice the door creak open, or the slight, blonde-haired elf slip into the room, he only noticed that he was no longer alone when a fist connected to his jaw and he dropped to the floor in stunned shock, hand coming to his cheek as he stared up at his friend.

“_Bastardo!_ You dung brained goat herder! What did you say to _mi novia,_ that would make her leave?!” Before Alistair could blink, Zevran had both his blades out and aimed at his throat. “Why would Miri say she doesn’t want to be the token knife ear whore to a shem-king?” Alistair’s eyes got wider the louder Zevran yelled at him. “She is the best of us, she saved all our lives time after time, and you did something to make her doubt everything!” The rage in Zevran’s eyes was a sight to be seen, the coal-black orbs glowed with an inner light, and the snarl over his face was one that Alistair had only seen when they had fought off the crow ambush a few weeks previous.  
  
“I – told her we couldn’t be together officially because I needed an heir and that the Landsmeet would not approve of me marrying…” Alistair jerked when Zevran ground out a pre-emptive response.  
  
“The Landsmeet wouldn’t approve of you marrying a Knife Ear, but they’d turn a blind eye to a knife-eared mistress.” His tone filled with contempt.

There was a cough from the door, and Zevran heard the quiet voice of Teagan Guerrin speak up.  
“Majesty… is there a problem?” Keeping the knives pointed at a now shame-faced Alistair, Zevran half turned and glared at the younger Guerrin as he sidled into the room, the faces of their travelling companions standing in the doorway looking shocked.

“You! You and your brother! After all she did for you and your family! Filling this imbecilic nug-humper’s head with purist ideals. Well, congratulations. _Mi novia_, has left, for parts unknown. You have lost your so-called Hero, the woman you owe your life to. She deserves more than to be a glorified whore for someone who apparently never appreciated her.” Sighing grimly, he slid his daggers back into their holsters and looked at both the white-faced nobles. “_Ambos son patéticos._ You had love in your hands. She brought sunlight to everyone and you failed her after she fought so hard for you and this mud blighted country. You don’t deserve her.” He turned his back to them both and pushed through the crowd at the door.

“I am ashamed that I ever called you brother, King of Fereldan.” His voice was quiet and cutting as he disappeared down the hall.

Alistair stared as every single one of his companions gave him and Teagan disappointed looks as they walked away. Wynne stood in the doorway, staring at the shamefaced young man.

“I understand why you did this, but I thought better of you. There had to have been a better way. You… disappoint me, Alistair.” Shaking her head, she joined her companions and left the young man alone with his uncle. None of them saw the tears roll down his cheeks.


	5. Stars

Miri lay on the forward deck on the Siren’s Call and stared up at the stars, naming the constellations to herself as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through the rough hair on the back of Tonne’s neck. She had adjusted quickly to the rolling of the boat as it cut through the waves, the moonlight casting a silvery light over everything. She remembered naming the starts and telling stories with her friends around the campfire, just a few weeks ago. Laughing at something Oghren had said, flirting harmlessly back and forth with Zevran, singing with Leliana, reading with Wynne and snuggling with Alistair and Tonne. Now all she had was Tonne.  
  
Well, Tonne and a super randy boat captain and her crew. Which was almost like having Zev with her. With a pang, she realised she missed him, his solid presence more than she had expected, and she regretted leaving without saying something. She missed her friends; she missed her family and most of all she missed what she had lost. She missed her love. Sighing as tears welled in her eyes and fell down the side of her face into her short blonde hair, she turned her thoughts back to the stars and hoped that these ones would guide her somewhere new. Though, maybe, in hindsight, she’d been a bit… hasty in this decision.


	6. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran's POV - He fights a battle against his crow training and asks for help

Pacing wasn’t like him.

His struggle against his upbringing and his feelings was confusing. Sighing deeply, he turned again and paced back the other direction again, running his fingers through his hair. Why was this so hard?

The Crows had taught him that sentiment and emotions were only something that could be used against you, and he was little more than a tool to be used and discarded.

Still… being around her had made his life bearable. Her smile had made him happy. Listening to her singing under her breath, her attempts to make food he liked, mostly unsuccessfully, then making dalish food to make up for it – he still wasn’t sure about the ground up bugs she’d used - made him stupidly happy. The little touches, the smiles, the flirtatious remarks. He knew that she didn’t really intend anything by them, but he had wondered in the past few weeks, especially when Alistair started spending more time with the Guerrin’s and less time with his companions, including the apparent love of his life. They'd spent more time together. He was fascinated by her, not that he hadn't been before, but he'd never been able to spend so much time alone with her before. It had become hard not to touch her, and a few times, he'd seen a different light come into her eyes when she'd looked at him, but then a shuttered look would cover it, and she'd change the topic or move away.

“Bah! I’ve never been a coward!” He scolded himself and knocked sharply on the door.

“Come in, mon ami!” Leliana’s soft voice called him. Zev was in the room in moments. Leliana looked at him gravely.

“Aaah.” Was all she said, looking at him with her clear blue eyes. Zevran crossed his eyes at her. She snorted.

“I, think I need to chase her.” Zevran swallowed. “But I am not sure that I should.”

“Why?” Her tone was curious.

“Because she could get into trouble. She needs protection.” He fumbled.

“No. Really… why do you need to chase her Zevran?” Leliana pressed.

Zevran looked down at his shoes and mumbled “Because I am hers. And she is mine.”

“_Pardon?_” She sat up and walked towards him. Zevran sighed and slumped against the door.

“Because I love her, Leliana. I am hers and she is mine.” Leliana squealed and clapped her hands.

“Finally! Come! I will help you! There’s a scout boat in the harbour, you’ll be in Starkhaven before she is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! They make me smile!! I sincerely appreciate it!


	7. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran's POV

Zevran hated the rain. Soul deep, eternally loathed it. He had heard that some people loved the way it sounded on their roofs. Some of them even stated that they liked dancing in it. He had never been one of those kinds of people. He far preferred warm, balmy winds, scented breezes, laughter, the sound of people talking, laughing… loving. He loved the smell of the leather tanneries, the different herbs and spices… and fruit! How had Fereldan’s not died of scurvy yet? He’d been in that country for a year and the only time he’d seen a lemon had been pickled in a jar with something he couldn’t even name. It didn’t even smell like lemon anymore.

Now, he was leaving Fereldan… with a nice chunk of Fereldan gold in his pocket. Under strict orders to return with the Hero of Fereldan as soon as possible. HA! **King Alistair** was funny. So, whilst he hated the rain, he’d make an exception this time. It was washing away the past. He made no assumptions about how hard the next while was going to be – Mirrim was after all, one of the most stubborn women he’d ever met. Though, if he knew his amor well by now, she’d be regretting running off and leaving things the way they had been by now. Though, honestly, he didn’t blame her at least.

Alistair was an immature ass. On one hand, he’d spent the past twenty-four hours moping around Denerim Castle, loudly wondering why she would leave him and misunderstand his intentions so badly or muttering excuses to the masses about the missing Hero of Fereldan. On the other, he was also skulking around that very same castle kissing the Cousland girl. How quickly his heart forgot. Zevran didn’t understand. The Cousland girl was typical Fereldan, brown-haired, blue-eyed, wide, childbearing hips and pretty enough. **THAT** was something he heard the elder Guerrin commenting on. He snorted. Alistair chose a broodmare over Mirrim. Mirrim has the biggest green eyes he’d ever seen, her hair was almost alive, twisting around itself around her hips when she let it out of its braid, the dark inky blackness seeming to glow with a bluish light. Her features were typical for an elf, he supposed, but to him, she was beautiful. Her pale skin a contrast against his own, her vallaslin to Mythal almost exactly the same shade as her eyes. She was breathtaking.

He supposed people found that important. Okay, he thought it was important too, but there as more to her than just beauty. She was strong, thoughtful, caring, loyal and he bit back a laugh, headstrong, stubborn and impulsive. Her skills with daggers matched and in some ways, exceeded his own – thought, he’d never admit that to anyone.

His amor was a complicated creature, but she was also hurt and running like a scared halla. Well, he was going to run her to ground and show her the world. Alistair’s royal decree be damned. So tonight… tonight he liked this rain. It meant a new start. Pushing away from the archway, he walked slowly towards the docks and his waiting boat.  
  
There was a small hope, and an amused sparkle in his eye that Alistair would be well and truly asleep when the water started leaking over him and his broad hipped bed mate. It as amazing was some borrowed daggers and some quietly moved roof tiles could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudo's and comments. They make my day. And make me obnoxious according to my children. But I don't care. I sincerely appreciate them!


	8. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrim is not enjoying her escape, or the storm she is experiencing. This couldn't get any worse, could it?

This was not fun. She was not having fun. This was insane. Who enjoyed this? Elves weren’t meant to be on the ocean. They weren’t ocean-faring peoples. This was the worst idea ever. 

Tonne sat crouched under the small table and whined or cried every time the boat pitched. Mirrim was torn between wanting to tie herself to the bed and trying to make sure she stayed near a bucket as her stomach matched the rolls of the ocean around her.

Outside she heard a whoop of delight as the ship pitched forward and raced down the front of a wave. It was definitely official…. Isabella was insane. 

Mirrim squeaked when a huge clap of thunder echoed around the tiny cabin and before she knew it, she was under the table burying her face into his neck.

No… this was the worst idea ever. 

“I’d rather kill darkspawn than do this again!!” Gripping hold of Tonne’s collar and the table leg, she screwed up her eyes as the boat pitched forward again.

“FEEENEEEHDDDIIIIISSSS!” She screamed as she rolled out from under the table and hit her head on the wall.

No. This was not fun. Not one little bit!

Out on the deck there suddenly came a terrified cry of one of the crew.

"Cap'n! Qunari dreadnaught off the starboard bow!"

"Oh, fuck! Head for the coast... we HAVE to outrun them!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not 100% sure of the timelines between DA:O and DAII, so since this is mostly head-canon and not really game compliant - much, I decided to incorporate the destruction of Isabela's ship with my story.
> 
> All elvhen words are italicised. 
> 
> Fenedis - there is some discussion about the meaning, but in my case, I am going to use it in place of shouting fuck etc.
> 
> Once again, thank you for the kudos and comments and the subscriptions. They make me feel good and inspire me to keep going.


	9. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winston and Mirrim to the rescue when things go boom!

The water was freezing, but the Siren’s Call was on fire and quickly slipping into the water on the Free March Coast. Mirrim looked around frantically.

  
“Winston!!! Winston! Where are you?!” There came a loud woof from nearby and she relaxed for a moment before watching in horror as a figure appeared at the top of the flaming boat. Isabella. The self-proclaimed Pirate Queen looked around for a moment, and then jumped into the ocean, swimming strongly towards Mirrim and the beach despite the storm still raging around them and the ever-present danger of the rocks that her ship had hit as they had tried to outrun both the storm and the Qunari dreadnaught chasing them.

  
There was a fantastic boom from beyond the wrecked ship and suddenly the sky was full of fire, debris and rain as the Qunari vessel exploded. Swimming toward the shore Isabella missed the piece of wood flying towards her and silently slid beneath the waves when it hit the back of her head.

  
“Bella!” Mirrim started swimming towards the stricken captain, fear and adrenaline making her cut through the water like a fish. Tonne beat her though, the huge mabari diving beneath burning wood and broken metal to pull the unconscious woman to the surface.

  
“Good boy, Winston! Let’s get her to the beach! Hurry!” Flipping Isabela over, she pushed her over Tonne’s back so that her head rested between his shoulder blades, and then held on as they desperately swam to the coast.

  
Reaching the a dry section of the beach, Tonne shrugged off his cargo and turned to grasp Isabela’s shirt in his teeth, knowing that Mirrim was too slight to pull the human herself. Mirrim followed, desperately trying to remember what her Keeper had told her to do about drowning victims, before deciding to do what seems natural. Collapsing beside the prone woman, she turned her head to the side and opened her mouth, before moving to sit astride her lower back and used all her weight to push down and forward, trying to force the water from the pirate’s lungs.

Her heart racing, she pushed her hair and water from her eyes, failing to notice the blood that covered her fingers. She was tired and her body hurt, but she couldn’t let her friend die. Pushing again, she watched as more water rushed from Bella’s mouth and onto the wet sand.

  
“Damn it, Bella. Wake up!’ She groaned. Tonne looked up sharply at her tone and moved quickly, shoving her off her perch and rolling himself over Isabela’s back toward her head. There came a feeble cough and both her legs jerked.

“Get off me, you great, hairy jackass!” Came the hoarse demand. Tonne complied and move over to lick Bella’s face. “Ugh! Your breath smells like rotten beef!” Bella pushed him away and came to her hands and knees, heaving in great gulps of air.

  
Mirrim gave a slightly hysterical giggle, her head swimming and dizzy now they were safe, and Isabela was no longer unconscious. She pushed her hair back from her face again and then felt warm liquid immediately run back down her nose. She brought her hand down to look at the blood coating it and suddenly the world seemed to shudder, tilt slightly and grow dim.

  
“_Dhava ‘ma masa_.” She mumbled before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dhava ‘ma masa - means kiss my ass according to Project Elvhen here on AO3 :)


	10. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe on land, Isabela and Mirrim head towards Kirkwall. When Mirrim refuses to enter the city, Bella goes to get her a healer. Guess who it is?

“So… do you think this will make me look like a pirate?” Mirrim’s voice was hopeful as walked along the road to Kirkwall with Tonne and Bella. The latter raised her eyebrow and smirked.

“Darling, with all the scars in the world, you’ll never look like a pirate. You are too pretty. Besides, I’ve heard there is a pretty decent healer in Darktown. You might not even get a scar.”

Mirrim pouted. “But a scar there would tell a story!”

“Yes, it says I survived a Qunari dreadnaught whilst running away from my problems.” Bella snickered.

“And also, I saved the Pirate Queen from drowning and then helped her hobble to Kirkwall.” Mirrim pointed out.

“Only because that’s the closest city to our current location and I thought Tonne saved me?” The mabari in question gave an affirmative bark and ran around the two women in a small circle, wagging his stubby tail.

“Well… I swam out to help and well…” Mirrim paused. “Still, it’d be a kick-ass scar. Do you think it’ll ruin my vallaslin?” She put her hand to the linen currently wrapped around her head.

“No Love. It will be fine. C’mon… I want to get to Kirkwall before dark, those clouds don’t look friendly.” Mirrim nodded and tightened her arm around her friend’s waist.

Walking for a few more hours, Mirrim knew her mood was turning dark the closer they got to the great walled city, and her feet began to drag. Sighing, she stopped altogether.

“Bella, I don’t know if I can do this.” Her voice wavered a bit. “Scars aren’t only on the surface.”

Bella hummed. “I know, Angel. How about I hobble into town and get the doctor to come out here for you? There’s a smuggler’s cottage near the western gate that you can wait in.”

“Yes… Thank you. For understanding.” Mirrim unwound her arm from Bella’s waist. “There are just too many Shems in there.” Feeling embarrassed, she looked down at her salt-encrusted boots. A smooth, brown hand moved under her chin and raised her face upwards.

“Look Angel, I’m not sure of the details, but I can make assumptions and guesses. You are hurting right now and probably rightly so. But it won’t always be this way. Until then though, do what you can. If you can’t go in there, then you won’t. Probably not a good idea considering who you are, and who will be looking for you.” Bella stood up straight and walked a few paces away. Mirrim burst out laughing, there was no sign of limping or the sore ankle she’d claimed.

“You are incorrigible, Bella. Excellent work on the faked ankle injury. And… thank you. For understanding.” She smiled at the beautiful Rivaini woman, who smirked again in response.

“Of course, Angel. Besides… I’d never miss a chance to have your delectable body snuggled up against mine again. Mmmm… now that was a night to remember!” Giving a slight salute, she turned and jogged up towards the gates. Mirrim shook her head, a slight smile on the game of Wicked Grace between herself, Zevran, Bella and Alistair. She’d had literally lost everything that night, even her small clothes. Laughing softly, she moved up the grassy verge in the direction of the smuggler’s cottage to wait for Bella and the Doctor, Tonne sniffling the ground and play pouncing on rabbits he’d scared out of their burrows.

***

“Hold still a moment, Dalish.” The voice was warm but sounded tired. Mirrim looked at the tall, gaunt, blonde-haired man and moved towards the other side of the table, feeling off-kilter and even scared. There was something about him that was… off.

“Her name is Mirrim, Anders. Don’t be an ass.” Mirrim looked at her friend and back at the healer in front of her. There was a weird blue light shining faintly from him, it gave her skin bumps. It was offputting, but she could also feel he had no intentions to hurt her. He stood patiently, watching her in return while she decided whether she could trust this _shem_ male or not. Finally nodding, she moved to sit in one of the dusty chairs but pulled Duncan’s dagger from its holder and held it in her lap.

“I am not threatening you.” She stated calmly in response to his raised eyebrows. “I just learnt not to trust _Shems_ recently and there is something up with you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough. I promise I am only going to take a look at that cut on your forehead.” Mirrim nodded, and let him approach, though eyed him warily.

His touch was gentle, and he hummed under his breath as he worked.

“I can fix the underlying damage, and the skin itself… but I am sorry, I can’t fix the um... “ He waved his hand towards the vallaslin. “Tattoo. There will be a small white line separating several of the branches from the others.”

“That’s okay, Anders. At least, it has not been destroyed.” She stared up at him with unwavering eyes as he finished his work, and just as he was done, she finally figured out what had her on edge.

“You aren’t alone in there are you?” She asked quietly, knowing that Bella was nearby. His eyes shot to hers.

“Uh… no.” Was all he said.

“Who else?” She was curious. All the dalish learnt stories of mages and spirits from their keepers learnt the signs and what to watch for. They also learnt that such teams were not necessarily a bad thing, but something to be careful around.

He ran his fingers over the wound, knitting the skin together. “A spirit of justice.” He muttered. Mirrim nodded. He stepped back a bit and looked over his shoulder nervously at Isabela, who was leaning nonchalantly against the door jam, inspecting one of her daggers.

“Mmmmm. Careful, Healer. Don’t let it consume you whole.” She stood up and slid the dagger away and then looked at both of them.

“We part ways here. Tonne and I are going west towards Cumberland and then north into the Silent Plains.” She checked to make sure both her daggers were secure, infinitely grateful that their holsters had held true. “Might have to borrow some things from some _shems_, but I am sure they won’t mind.” She smirked at Bella. “Don’t be too naughty, Bella. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again. Anders… thank you for the heals. Don’t let it be a jackass.” She gave Isabela a hug and waved at Anders, deciding that she’d had enough of male _shems_ for a while, even nice, possessed ones like him. “C’mon Tonne.” Opening the door, she stepped through and disappeared into the evening light.

Anders turned to Isabela. “You are just going to let her go? She’s tiny, an elf and female… she’s a target.” Bella laughed, watching the Mirrim disappear behind a giant boulder.

“Healer, that’s the Hero of Fereldan, anyone who decides to mess with her, will regret it. C’mon. I need a drink. Let’s go to The Hanged Man.”

Closing his mouth, he looked at her and then ran his hand over his face. “Yes… I need a drink… or maybe more than one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shem is the word Elves use to refer to humans - it's not exactly polite, but then, being called Knife Ear isn't either. 
> 
> Vallaslin or blood writing is the name of the tattoos that the Dalish wear. In this instance, Mirrim's is Mythal's mark and it covers her entire forehead but is not below her eyes at all.
> 
> I found this awesome, interactive map of Thedas, so I am going to go fix my location mistakes a bit. https://bendingwind.bitbucket.io/


	11. Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran "enjoys" the ambience and drinks of The Hanged Man.

Zevran

There were enough shadows in The Hanged Man that he’d be able to cloak himself, get behind that musician and kill him before anyone even realised he was there. The music he was playing was a crime against well everything. Not that that bothered the two people rocking to the music in the corner. Oh… hold on… they weren’t dancing. Zevran grinned. He did love this tavern; it was so delightfully… disgusting.

He took a mouthful of the “ale” he had purchased and grimaced. “Ugh. Tastes like mud.”

“That’d be because they use mud.” A darkly seductive voice spoke, and two small glasses slammed down on to the table before him. “You can’t kill the musician. Varric likes him.” Bela grinned at him as she turned a chair around and then sat down facing him.

“Zevran! Of all the places to show up. Wasn’t sure it was you until I saw you giving the bard the eye and reaching for your dagger.” Zevran quirked an eye at her, grinning in response.

“Mi Bella! You are looking well, yes?” He was pleased, this was who he had travelled here to speak with. He just hoped she knew where Mirrim had gone.

“Pft. Well, sure. Physically. No longer a captain though.” She looked downcast, then picked up her drink and raising an eye in a challenge, raised it to her lips and drank it. Zevran copied her and slammed the small glass down on the table upside down.

“What happened to the Siren?” He leant forward and covered her hand with his. She blushed and looked away.

“Er… hit some rocks near Kirkwall in the storm a few days ago. She and most of her crew are at the bottom of The Waking Sea now.” She got up and stormed over to the bar and pulled the whiskey bottle from the barman’s hand and came back over to his secluded table. He knew that wasn’t all there was to the story, but he’d let her evade the answer for now. He accepted the drink from here and just as quickly drank it.

“Most of your crew? That’s a pity. Your first mate was talented.”

“In more ways than one.” She smirked. Then her eyes lit up.

“Want to help me forget for a bit, Zev?” Her smile held an invitation.

“Ahhh…. _mi bella_, if I only could. See, I am a one-woman elf now. Though, I am admiring your attributes… those boots are wicked! And they look fabulous wrapped around your thighs, no?” He grinned, all charm.   
  
Bela looked a bit shocked, in the years that they had known each other, he had never passed a chance to be with her.

“A one-woman elf? Who’d you tie yourself too? And why would you?”

“La amo.” He smiled at her gently.

“Well, that was certainly something I never thought to hear from you. But good for you.” She looked sad for a moment, the poured them both another drink. “Does she know?”

Zevran coughed as he choked on his drink. “No… not yet.”

Bela slammed her hands down on the table and laughed at him outright.

“Oh, how the tables have turned!” He scowled at her and moved the topic away to other things. Asking questions about her intentions whilst she was in Kirkwall, whilst steadily drinking with her. He knew his Bela when she had a lot of alcohol, she’d start to relax her inhibitions and maybe tell him what he wanted. He knew Mirrim had left Denerim on the Siren’s Call, and the fact that Bela was here alone and commenting about the loss of her crew worried him deeply.

“You don’t look injured, _mi bella_. How did you escape with no injuries?” He casually swallowed his next drink and looked enquiringly at her.

“That big brute of a mabari dived down and save me according to Mirrim. His breath smelt disgusting.” She leant against the edge of the table, her eyes a little unfocussed.

“Mirrim? Tonne saved you?” He leant forward and touched her face when her eyes closed.

“Yep. She’s the worst sailor. Never seen one person throw up so much.” Her words started to slur. “She and her dog got the water out of my lungs and then she passed out. Huge cut on her head.” Zevran’s heart raced, but Bela laughed. “She said kiss my ass before she passed out. It was great!” Zevran barked out an unexpected laugh. That did sound like her. Though, she’d only been like that around him and had taken great delight in teaching him rude phrases in elvhen.

“So, if she’s injured, where’d she go?” He tried to remain casual and believed in her state she wouldn’t notice the slight waver in his voice.

“Off towards Cumberland with that dog of hers. I got Anders over there,” she turned towards a comatose man slumped against the wall “to heal her and off she went. Said she was going there, and then on to the Silent Plains.” Zevran nodded, eyes taking in her general state. He stood, still clear-headed, and reached down towards her.

“C’mon, _Tesoro_… let’s get you to bed.” Her eyes lit up and her smile turned salacious.

“I knew you’d change your mind!” She took his hand and he helped her to his feet. By the time he had made it to her room, he was carrying her, and she was sleeping with her mouth open. Chuckling he laid her on the bed and removed the boots she had tied up around her thighs. Kissing her forehead, he left the room, locking it behind him and headed down towards the exit. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stuck to the shadows and moved behind the poorly playing musician.

Checking to see if anyone was paying attention, he used the hilt to rap the man on the back of the head and grinned into the hood of his cloak as he slid bonelessly to the floor. Stepping over the man, he accidentally trod on his fiddle, putting the heel of his boot through it.

The blond man slumped against the wall, opened an eye and looked at Zev blearily.

“Oh, thank the bloody Maker!” And passed out again.


	12. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrim considers her actions and emotions whilst walking toward Cumberland with Tonne and finds she is missing her companions more than she realised.

Mirrim wiped the blood from her daggers on the shirt of the dead bandit in front of her.

“Damn it! You stupid _shem_! You put a nick in my dagger. I hope the Dread Wolf eat you.” Four dead men lay in various positions around her, and all of them were bleeding out. Apparently, even though she’d warned them, they hadn’t believed her when she didn’t want to join them for their camp party that night as the featured performer. Continuing to grumble, she started going through their pockets, taking what little cash they had and leaving the trash behind.

“Why the hell would you keep a rock, two mouldy chicken bones, and a broken key in your pocket? People are weird, Tonne. Don’t ever be one.” Tonne barked in agreement and followed her as she continued along the pathway. It was a nice day for the Free March coast. Blue sky, the wind didn’t bite too badly, and the pathway was dry. Tonne gambolled alongside her, occasionally running into the forest chasing a rabbit, or barking up at a bird. Mirrim smiled at his antics, grateful for his joyful company.

As usual, her thoughts wandered back to the previous few weeks. She’d acted like a spiteful little grub. And she’d definitely jumped the gun by running off. Alistair, Leliana and Wynne were probably beside themselves. She wasn’t so sad about Alistair, he was still a jackass, but she understood what he had meant, even if he’d said it completely the wrong way. She was still pissed about him suggesting that she could be his mistress though… apparently, he thought she had no pride. She couldn’t go that to herself or her family. Her father would be horrified.

Sighing, she remembered her papae had tried to tell her what would happen when and if Alistair became king. But she’d refused to listen and had continued on her way thinking she knew all the answers. Yes, well, look that where that got her? She’d forced Alistair to be king, she’d almost died fighting an archdemon and she was three days outside of Cumberland, with an overgrown puppy and none of her companions. All whilst acting like a sulky child. Her friends and family were probably worried sick. Feeling guilty, she decided to write to her father, Wynne and Leliana as soon as she reached the next major city. As for Alistair. Nope, he could go hang. She was still too angry.

“Hey Tonne… do you think Zevran’s made it to the Free Marches yet?” She asked the huge mabari, as he trotted beside her, his tongue lolling out. He gave an affirmative woof.

“Think we’ve left enough obvious clues for him to follow?” He woofed in agreement again.

“I wonder if he’ll come to Weisshaupt with us?” She pondered. Whilst she regretted her spur of the moment trip, she had decided that going to the Warden Headquarters would be a good place to investigate a cure for the blight. Joining the wardens had hardly been her idea, and she felt her job was done now. They couldn’t ask for more right?

“Bah… they will… and I am sure the questions they have about my survival are going to go on forever.” She paused in her mental ruminations as she walked on, before stopping and looking down at the dog.

“Answer me this Tonne. If I am so in love with Alistair, why am I worrying about whether Zevran will be able to follow me or not? He only said he’d stay with me or us until I released him from his oath, and I did that before the fight at Fort Drakon. Why am I so confident he will follow me?” Tonne cocked his head to the side and whined at her questioningly.

“Thanks… that’s an informed opinion.” Setting off again, she pondered Zevran. Smart mouthed, skilled, deadly, her friend and he was loyal. She’d seen that from the start. She had fun with him, he seemed to know she needed to let loose and enjoy life. Wynne had always wanted her to portray an image and Alistair, sometimes wouldn’t know fun if it bit him on the arse. It was Zevran who suggested sliding down the bannorn on spare canvas “borrowed” from Bohdan, it was Zevran who dared her to race through the treetops of the Brecillian forest to get to a clearing first and it was Zevran who had sat next to her late at night and just talked. No lewd comments and no come-ons. Just talked. She’d relished it.

Hmmmm… it bore thinking about. She had no idea what this all meant. Nor was she really ready to think about is seriously.


	13. Annoyance

Really? REALLY? She was the damn Hero of Fereldan, and she shouldn’t have been so careless to be caught by these Slavers. One moment she’d been throwing a stick for Tonne and admittedly not really paying attention to her surroundings and then next moment something had hit her shoulder and she had been down for the count.

Now she was stuffed in a barred cart heading towards who knows where. The small cart was packed with elves, all of them terrified, the stench of their fear strong in her nose. She was pretty sure a couple of the older ones were just plain dead. Didn’t look like these slavers were too picky about who they picked up. She wasn’t terrified, however. She was pissed off AND embarrassed. She listened to the mounted men chatting around the rocking cart. Obviously, they were not Tevinters, their Navarran accents and coarse language gave their identities away. The pair riding behind the cart were currently trying to decide how much to ask for her. Apparently, they thought she was a great beauty, despite being an elf and hoped that her sale cost would cover for the dead ones still stashed in the cart. She shuddered in revulsion. She wiggled slightly against the door moving her hand slowly down her leg to the top of her boot and then grinned, wolf-like as her fingers stroked over the dagger stuck into the top of it. So, they were crass AND stupid. All the better for her. She’d have to wait for night to fall, but at least she could get herself and those still alive out of here.

Now, with a plan vaguely in place, she had time to worry about Tonne. She was reasonably sure he wasn’t dead, thinking that the moron’s that had captured her would have spoken about it by now, given that she’d woken up in this dank cart shortly after being placed in it. THAT was annoying too. To be captured by such bumbling idiots. Thank the Creators that none of the people in the cart knew who she was and that none of her friends could see her. Oghren and Zevran would never let her forget it. Sten would scowl at her and tell her how foolish she was. Leliana would insist on more lock picking lessons, and Alistair would….

“Nope. Not going there.” She muttered.

What would Shale do she wondered. Shale would squish the Nevarran’s and then given “IT” a stern talking to about paying attention to “its” surroundings. Morrigan and Wynne would have just magicked everything and then scolded her too… though both of them would laugh at her as well.

Sighing, she leaned her head back against the bars and looked up the top. It looked to be three or four hours till full dark, so she settled in to wait. Really, this was seriously the most annoying thing that had happened to her in a while, and that included letting Isolde Guerrin trying to dress her up like a member of Fereldan nobility.

I suppose, she thought, this is an excellent lesson in patience. Maybe I’ll learn it this time.


	14. Imprisonment

If Mirrim thought being captured by those idiots had been annoying, then this, this was way worse. She had never gotten the chance to enact her plan, as shortly before dusk the cart had pulled into a well-lit camp, filled with Tevinters. One of their mages had apparently performed some kind on scan on the inhabitants of the barred space and within moments her dagger had been magically removed from her boot and used on one of her captors. Apparently because of his stupidity for not checking for it in the first place. That had been a bit gruesome. The young elven girl sitting next to her at fainted at the sight, whilst Mirrim had just looked down and grumbled to herself.

Within minutes she had pulled from the cart and made to line up with all the others as the Tevene slaver’s had appraised them one by one. Some were pulled forward and shoved towards guards, the young girl who had fainted being one, whilst others were just killed for being too old, too frail or even too young. Mirrim felt every death as a wound in her soul, and she kept count as the men walked towards her. So far 10 people had gone to meet the Creators, and that didn’t include the five lying dead in the cart.

As they approached, she appraised them as well, her large green eyes taking in their clothes, the cocky way they walked and their personal mannerisms.

“Here Brothers! Is the treasure of this woe begotten group! Look at the fire in her eyes.” The man in the lead, a small, wiry and greasy looking man reached out and grabbed her chin pulling her face towards the firelight. “She’s a beauty. I know who’ll be interested in her! Put her in a holding cell by herself.” He patted her on the face before grabbing her arm and turning her around and looking her up and down.

“Yes, Magister Denarius might like this one. Maybe a replacement for his lost wolf. We’ll show her to Hadriana tomorrow.” Mirrim was roughly shoved towards a guard standing alone near a doored entrance to a cave.

“Take to one of the closer pens. Keep her alone. Hadriana won’t want to walk too far.” Came the terse command of the greasy slaver. “Put the others into the pens, we’ll be taking them to Minrathous in a day or two.”

The guard roughly grabbed her arm and shoved her ahead of him down into the dark of the cave. She kept her mouth shut and tried to memorise the path but was soon lost in the winding paths of the cavern. Soon she was shoved unceremoniously into a tiny, dark cell and landed against the cave wall. The smell made her gag, and the slimy coating on the wall made her skin crawl. She spun around fast as the cell door slammed shut.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Knife-ear. You won’t be here long enough to enjoy the accommodations.” The guard laughed as he began to walk away. Mirrim groaned into her hands, and once again regretted the hasty decision to run away from her friends and family. Now she was at the mercy of slavers, with no weapons and no way to get out. This was not turning out as she had planned.


	15. Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran has finally caught up with Mirrim's trail, only to discover she has been captured. Worried that he won't be able to find her in time, Tonne, her Mabari hound comes to the rescue.

Zevran slowed down his horse, carefully searching the ground for signs of passage. As soon as he had crossed the Nevarran border, he had heard of slavers taking advantage of refugees fleeing the blight, and that this area was particularly troubled, especially with people reading between the lines with Kirkwall. He hadn’t been particularly worried about Miri until he’d stumbled upon her pack and daggers at the side of a clearing. It was completely against her character to just leave them there unattended, so he knew something had happened to her. Sliding the extremely sharp and most likely poisoned daggers into the spare harnesses with his saddlebags, he had tied her pack to his own and started to follow a cart trail made in the dust of the clearing, holding his horse's reins loosely in one hand.

Walking for an hour, he began to have some problems with the trail as the path had grown rockier and the sun had finally set. He wasn’t going to give up looking, but he had to admit that he was starting to feel a little despair in the pit of his stomach as he tried to reason out which way the slavers could have gone. He also felt a wave of growing anger towards Mirrim for running away in the first place and frustration that fate seemed to want to keep them apart.

Then, through the darkness, there came a loud baying. He recognised that sound, it had sounded in every fight he’d fought for the last year. Its owner had quickly wormed his way into his heart with his slobbery kisses and food stealing ways. It had also helped that he’d liked Alistair’s Fereldan stew.

“Tonne!” Zevran called hoarsely, trying to keep his voice low, in case the slavers were actually in hearing distance. The baying halted immediately, then there was quiet “BOOF!” and Tonne bounded through the underbrush and jumped at Zevran’s chest, knocking him to the ground and covering his face with slobber and heated dog breath, his hindquarters wiggling madly in his canine joy.

“Okay… okay! Tonne off!” Zevran cracked a smile and shoved at the huge behemoth. Obediently he moved off the slightly wheezing elf and sat at attention by his side as he clambered to his feet.

Racing over to his horse, he tied it to the closest tree and pulled out Mirrim’s daggers, sliding them into the holsters on his back. His own daggers he shoved through his belt and turned to face the patiently waiting Mabari.

“C’mon, _mi amigo_. Find Miri!” Tonne gave another quiet “BOOF!” before bounding back the way he had come, with Zevran close behind him.

Thirty minutes later, Zevran crouched behind a bush looking over into a rough clearing, the smell of slave pens heavy in the air. Men, Tevinters by their clothes, lounged around the fires talking and joking with each other as they ate their food. In a tent further away from the more common soldiers, sat an aristocratic man, surrounded by several mages if their clothes were anything to go by. By his count, there were 14 men up here and that didn’t account for those lurking within the slave pens themselves. This would be a challenge to do by himself. When Tonne pressed against his knee, his entire body quivering, Zev changed his tactics just a little.

“Tonne, stay here. I am going to sneak in and find Mirrim. When you hear her whistle, run at the men by the fire. Stay alive, yes?” Tonne nodded his massive head and crouched further behind the brush even as Zev lightly patted his head and disappeared into the darkness of the forest around him.

Tonne would get his elf back. There was no other option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [Anasilan Writes Stuff and Things](https://caladrinsilverleaf.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you want to chat :)


	16. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having brought Zevran to the slave pens, Tonne (Winston) decides to take matters into his own... er... paws. He has to help his elf and his elf friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonne's POV - warning for Mabari attacks

Tonne crouched behind the bush, the black kaddis marks on his fur helping him to blend into the shadows. He watched the men by the campfire with an appraising eye. He knew that his elf friend had told him to be careful and to stay, but his elf was in danger. He loved his elf more than anything. She played with him, she fed him snacks, she let him bite bad people and things, and she let him sleep under her blanket. He’d loved his other master too, but that master had died at the loud, sharp place fighting the smelly things. Those smelly things had made him sick. His elf had fixed him, and she had become his.

Now she was stuck in a bad place, and elf friend needed help getting her free. Tonne liked elf friend too. Elf friend gave him bones and sat with him during night-time watches when the metal man had been in his elf’s sleeping place, and Tonne wasn't allowed under her blanket. Tonne didn't like the metal man any more. He was nice enough, and he gave good scratches, but he’d made his elf cry. So, he was no longer a friend. Tonne though that he deserved a bite on the bottom for making his elf cry.

Tonne turned his head and saw his elf friend sneak into the mouth of the bad place, but he also saw one of the magic people leave the tent and begin to walk towards the forest behind the tent. He licked his lips and slunk through the undergrowth, following the man at a careful distance. As soon as he was past the tent, he broke cover and raced through the dark, silent and deadly up the slight path and came across the human urinating on a tree. With a silent growl, Tonne leapt at the man, savage white teeth gleaming in the moonlight and grabbed him around the back of the neck, forcing the man to the ground. With a quick twist of his head, he broke the human’s neck and felt him go limp under the weight of his body, dying without so much of a sound. He repeated this again ten minutes later when the second man came looking for the first, though it wasn’t as quiet this time. The third human from the tent reminded Tonne of the smelly things. He tasted bad in his mouth when he had jumped to attack, and he had almost caught him with the sparking magic that had come from his fingers. As it was, Tonnes right ear hurt, and his back leg felt odd.

That hadn’t stopped him though. The bad man had started waving his stick around and muttering, and Tonne had just jumped up to his front and bitten through the flesh under the man’s chin. The smelly man went silent too, just like the others. Tonne had moved away a few paces and sat to inspect his leg, licking the burn on it with a careful tongue. His elf would fix it later, he knew she would.

He crept back down the pathway, still slightly limping and then moved behind the tent to sit and watch those gathered around the fire. They were drinking and chatting with each other, talking about things Tonne didn’t understand. He knew the odds though. There was little chance of him being able to take out 11 humans on his own. But, he could lie in wait as he’d done for the bad men in the tent. Maybe that would help his elf and his elf friend when they came out.

Tonne’s big friend, the strange man with white hair and grey skin had told him that sometimes it was best to wait for the enemy to come to him. So, Tonne would wait, alone in the dark, and help his friend and his elf. His elf would save him if he was trapped. So he would help save her.


	17. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran sneaks into the slaver's pen to find his warden and finds some people to play with.

The darkness was thick, rank with foul miasmas and fear. Zevran wrinkled his nose, but moved silently down the pathway between empty pens, keeping to the shadows. There was a pervading smell of damp, mould, faeces, and dirt, with the sounds of sobbing, muttering and the shaking of chains. Loathsome place. Loathsome people doing these acts. To think that his warden had been caught up in it. He figured she had to be pretty angry by now. That was good. Anger would refine her edge.

Creeping around the edge of a damp stone wall, he saw three men playing a card game by torchlight and a fourth patrolling down past some of the filled pens. Quietly, using the musty darkness to his benefit as he pulled three slender throwing daggers from his boot. Seconds later, and three short meaty sounds, all three slavers at the table were dead, slumped over their wine and cards. Creeping into the torchlight for a moment, Zevran quickly withdrew his knives, cleaned the on the tunics of the dead man in front of him and pushed them back into his boots. Keeping his eye on the fourth patrolling slaver, he ran to the first pen and ducked behind it, holding his finger to his lips to quieten the startled occupants. They nodded, when he pointed to the patrolman and then slid his thumb over his throat, and settled back against one another, fear easing and anticipation climbing.

Sneaking along behind the last guard, he followed him back towards the entrance, ducking into the shadows and against the cavern walls to keep from sight. Turning past another rock wall, he saw her, leaning against the wall in her cage, arms folded and an extremely pissed off expression on her face. Ahhhh! His warden was beautiful in her anger. Incandescent. Zevran stopped a moment to admire her. Her green eyes hard like emeralds, glowing with rage. Her short blonde hair, a golden halo around her head, even in the limpid light cast by the guards burning torch. Her full lips were tightly closed as she frowned at the man staring at her through the bars. Curiosity made Zevran stay in his dark corner, ready to pounce, but curious as to what would happen next, as the burly guard moved to stand in from of the pen door.

The man’s voice was too low to hear what he said, but he saw his Miri’s eyebrows raise as the man spoke. She blinked once, and her face took on a seductive cast, the same one he’d seen her use on Alistair or even himself on occasion. It was a very effective weapon in his warden’s arsenal. Oh yes, he would enjoy this from his darkened corner. This would be an interesting sight.


	18. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miri uses her feminine wiles to get free, much to the delight of her audience

The big, hulking guard stopped in front of her pen and appraised her from just beyond reach. It was not in her nature to give up and she had no intention of doing so. She had to get out and find her friends. Tonne had to be alive still and Zevran should be close now according to her estimation, especially if he’d stopped and purchased a horse. The guard started muttering something under his breath, eying her up and down like she was a prize breeding mare at the local fair.

“He said nothing about no bruises, nor about…”

Miri put her quickly hatched plot to work and quickly adopted the sultry look she had learnt to use on most of the men in camp during her travels. It had been quite efficient in getting the things she’d wanted, mostly Alistair, though had worked on Zevran too, especially when she knew he enjoyed their little flirting game back and forth. She’d learnt it from him after all.

Ducking her head a little, and looking up at the huge human through her eyelashes, and firmly telling herself to ignore the rise of bile in the back of her throat, she slunk towards the door, exaggerating the swing of her hips, and taking her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at him pleadingly.

“Please, can I have some water? Mistress Hadriana won’t want Magister Denarius’s new pet to be faint from dehydration… I can make it worth your while.” She wheedled, fluttering her eyelashes at him, and raising a hand to carefully trail her fingers down over a breast and over her stomach and hip. The man swallowed and turned to a barrel opposite the pen, pulling his personal mug from the holder on his belt, dipping it in the water and walking towards her, cup out held.

“Oh yes, bring the water to the nice knife-ear, shemlen.” She thought to herself and moved to thrust out her other hip, maintaining eye contact with the man, and purposefully licking her lower lip provocatively. As soon as his arm came through the bars, she lunged forward and grabbed the top of his leather armour and yanked back with all her might, slamming his head into the rusty iron bars, rendering him unconscious within a heartbeat. Better yet, the bars were so worn and rusted the door opened with the force of his head being slammed against it, and it rested against his head, the bulk of it keeping the door mostly closed.

Without thinking too hard, knowing that that sound would bring the other guards running, she rose back on one leg and kicked the door with all her might. There was a sickening crunch as the unconscious guard’s skull was crushed in, but it gave her enough room to slide between the pen walls and door into the corridor.

“Ewww.” She said in disgust when she looked momentarily. The side of the man’s head was crushed in and she was fairly certain that was brain leaking out his ear.

Suddenly from behind her, there came a loud clapping and a warmly accented voice called from the shadows.

“_Mi amor_! You were spectacular! I never knew you could use a door to make a man's brain come out of his ear like that without a dagger! I need to add that to my list of skills. You will teach me this, no?” And a grinning, Zevran stepped from the shadows, coming towards her, arms wide open.

Miri grinned at him and flew into his embrace, burying her face into his neck. “Zev! Are you a sight for sore eyes, Lethallin!” They stood in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before parting, hands grasping forearms tightly before parting.

Zevran gave her a grandiose bow and presented her daggers to her. “Your weapons, my warden.” He purred, placing a slight emphasis on the my, which she completely missed as she lovingly took her weapons and slid them into their back holsters. Her eyes flashed as she searched the darkness.

“The other guards?”

“Dead… so mysteriously too.” He responded, giving her a cheeky smile. She nodded, and stood still for a moment, eyes closing as she sighed deeply.

“Tonne?” She opened her eyes to look at him, her heart in her eyes.

“On guard, outside… though I am not sure if he would stay where I told him. I don’t quite have the same level of respect with him as you do, _amor._” She gave him a wide relieved smile and moved towards the entrance.

“Okay… well, we have to kill the slavers outside and set these other people free.”

“Of course, follow Zevran yes? Remember the skills I taught you? We fight from the dark and hit them before they know what’s happening.” He moved in front of her at her nod, knowing that she would follow his lead in this case.

Miri felt an exaggerated sense of relief as they moved as one into the darkness of the cavern. Crouching as they reached the cavern entrance, she slid the daggers from their holsters and held them lightly in her hands.

“When you step from the cave, whistle for Tonne. He will provide a distraction.” Zevran whispered quickly, and Miri nodded. “On three…. 1… 2… 3!” They both stepped from the slave pen doorway and into the clearing, Miri’s whistle piercing the air.

“BOOF!!” was the only response to be heard.


	19. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrim and Zevran are in for a pleasant surprise when they exit the slave pens...
> 
> (I suck at writing summaries.... sigh)

Mirrim and Zevran stepped out into the dark clearing, eyes quickly adjusting to the limited light and both their jaws dropped. Wagging his stubby tail hard in delight, Tonne began dancing around the pair of them, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. To Miri he looked more than a bit gruesome, his fur covered with blood and other… things.

“Tonne! What did you do _dharlin_?” She squinted her eyes and saw a mass of large black lumps in the dark and looked at Zevran in astonishment. For once, Zevran seemed to be completely speechless. Tonne just kept dancing around their feet, with a big proud grin on his face as he bounced around.

“There were at least 14 men out here when I snuck in to find you, _amor_… You don’t think?” Zevran looked down at the hound, and then grinned at him. “Okay, my fine furry fellow. Show us what you are so pleased with.” He gave Tonne an extravagant bow, and then gestured in front of himself. Tonne woofed loudly and ran around him in a circle before trotting off towards the tent. Miri smiled at Zev, marvelling over her hound’s actions, and what she was now assuming he had done.

Within moments, they discovered it was true. On a pathway behind the tent, three men lay dead, their throats torn out. They discovered three more such piles of dead Tevinter’s on their way back to the forest clearing. Tonne dance around the piles with pride, his tongue lolling from his mouth as he looked at both his companions.

“Awwwww, _dharlin_, what a beautiful, bloodthirsty creature you are! I’m so proud of you!” Miri dropped to her knees, and uncaring of the blood and gore coating his fur, wrapped her arms around his head and kissed the top of his muzzle.

“Yes, he is quite the hero.” Zevran looked down at the happy hound and felt himself smile. “But you are also a messy hero.” He noted, picking what he assumed to be skin off the dog’s neck, and tossing it aside.

Miri giggled. “Maybe he should stay outside of the cave when we let those elves free? They’d probably be terrified at the sight of him.

Zevran shook his head. “No, _novia_, they should know what a hero he is, and what he did for them… despite the fact that he did this to save YOU.” He smiled at her gently. Mirrim stood and looked down at her still prancing canine companion.

“I know it. You are such a good fellow, you are my hero, _dharlin_. Just like Zev, you both swooped in to save me!”

“Soon, we will talk about how you were caught, my warden. I am very interested in hearing that tale.” He raised an eyebrow at her as all three began to walk towards the mouth of the cave again.

“Ahhhh. Yes… soon… maybe. And it had nothing to do with playing fetch with Tonne. Nothing at all.” She smirked and stepped into the darkness, even as Zevran burst into startled laughter at the completely prosaic reason they’d had to rescue her from slavery.

***

Mirrim stood in front of the locked cages and looked at all the elves huddle in them, and sighed, then turning towards the eldest woman of the group she bowed, showing her respect.

“_An'daran Atish'an_, _melin.”_ She spoke clearly, knowing that her accent was a little strange to those held in the dank cages. “I hope that you speak common, because I fear my knowledge of Dalish is limited.”

The older woman in the cage nodded her head. “I do speak the language of the Shemlen.” Mirrim smiled at her gratefully.

“Excellent!” Rubbing her hands together, she walked towards the woman. “I am Mirrim Tabris, and in a moment, my friend Zevran and I will be freeing you, and allowing you to return to your homes and people.” The people in cages started to smile. “We have some healing potions for those who are injured, and I can offer a small amount of money to help you on your way.” She paused and paced back the other way.

“I will be clear, there is a third member of our group, a Mabari hound. His name is Tonne… ah, Winston. He truly saved you all tonight, along with Master Arainai and me. I tell you this because he is… well… very excited to see you all, but he is also quite…” She searched for a word. Zevran spoke up, his tone amused.

“He is covered with the blood of the enemies he killed, and my companion wishes you to know so you are not afraid of him. He is a hero.” The elder woman turned and spoke to the others, her command of the elvhen language fluid and graceful. All the elves around her smiled and nodded their heads.

“We will thank him them, _da’len_.” The woman spoke again. “Just as we all thank you, and the Hero of Fereldan for our freedom.” She bowed again.

Mirrim stepped forward and within moments had the cage doors open, the elves quietly exiting, nervous but hopeful. Leading them back through the dank cave, the group left, stopping only to bow to an excited, but sitting Tonne, whispering words of thanks to him and calling him their hero.

Zevran smiled at Mirrim as she walked beside the elder, excitedly talking to the woman, who was smiling indulgently at the younger woman. He felt his heart constrict, and he swallowed hard. She was safe now… well safer. He would watch out for her from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dharlin - Puppy. So, yes... Miri is calling her giant Mabari Hound a puppy. Lol.
> 
> An'daran Atish'an, melin - Greetings/Welcome friends  
Da'len - Little One


End file.
